#cover letters are such a JOKE oh my god....i understand the need for a resume in this hell world. but why the cover letter.

[deathlonging]

applying for internships could be a full time job

[bnhascribbles]

Love at First Sight

Shinso x Reader

Coffee Shop AU, Fluff, First Meetings; For the lovely kazooli‘s competition.  It’s based on their “Love at First Sight” scenario!  Now, I may be a dumb-dumb and be late, but either way, I’m posting this because WHY NOT. 

Words: 1.5K

Warnings: None

Shinso isn’t an idealistic sort of person.  He knows he doesn’t love you–won’t entertain the thought–even when time seems to stop the second you walk through that door.  “Love” wasn’t something that just happened.  Not in a minute, not at a glance, and certainly not with a complete stranger.

Even so, he’s utterly fascinated by you, unable to pry his eyes away as you settle into a booth in the corner.

It hadn’t been your smile that’d done it, soft and just-barely-there as you stretched the edge of your hoodie over the bottom of your face, like the gesture was a secret meant for you alone.  It hadn’t been the way you’d clumsily tucked a strand of hair behind your ear and exposed silver studs, twisted in the wrong direction, but unmistakably cat-shaped.  It hadn’t even been the way the steady thrum of your fingers against the countertop had matched the pace of his heart exactly–the fact that when they stalled, he could feel his breathing halting, getting caught in his chest, waiting for the moment those nails would resume their concert upon the wood.

No, it’d been more than all of that.  It was just...you.  The things he could see along with something else that lingered just beneath his skin.  Something silent, but present nonetheless.  Something he couldn’t possibly put into words–couldn’t understand–but could experience.  Like gravity.  He can’t even begin to explain the reasons why it existed, how it worked the way it did.  Still, it’s tug was undeniable.

Even though Shinso knows better, some part of him still wants to believe it’s possible–that there’s a single person in the world made for him, and they’re lounging about in the coffee shop he works at.

Work.  He’s supposed to be doing that.  Right.  

Shinso forces his eyes back down to his register screen, and for a while, he manages to ignore you.  He wipes at a wet spot on the granite and pretends you aren’t just a couple feet away, convinces himself that you’ve wandered out or disappeared into thin air or, maybe, you hadn’t even been there to begin with.  Maybe he’d imagined you.  That possibility makes it much easier for him to focus.  It works right up to the moment you walk over to his counter. When that happens, he glances up for just a second and knows all hope is lost.  

“Hey.”  This is the very first time Shinso has ever heard your voice.  Still, he’s certain he’d be able to pick it out in a crowd if given the opportunity.  No other sound has ever made his skin buzz like this before.

But the fact doesn’t change: It’s still not love that he feels.  Attraction maybe, but definitely not love.

“Hey.”  Shinso chimes back, thinking for much longer than he should about how to phrase that one word.  Despite his best efforts, it sounds wrong to him.  Not smooth like yours had been.  It’s too blunt (even though it was only a one-word response).  Too nervous (not that he had any reason to be nervous).  Too–

“This is where I order right?”

He’d spaced out.  Dammit.  That wasn’t something he usually did.

“Yeah, it is.”  He’s still doing it–overthinking everything.  Shinso inhales deeply, channeling hours of customer service training videos, willing himself to forget about everything that isn’t the espresso machine or service with a smile.  “What can I get you?”

“Hm.”  You place your palms flat on the counter, leaning in to get a better look at the menu board.  Your eyes flit between the messy scrawl there and the register.  “Tell me: What does the master recommend?”

A lesser man might have choked.  Shinso just stops breathing.

“...Or is that title on your apron just for show?”

The title.  The title, for god’s sake.  Gaudy golden letters embroidered just below the pocket of his apron, proudly proclaiming “COFFEE MASTER” like it wasn’t something every employee had to wear as part of their uniform.  He makes a mental note to smother the lettering in coffee grounds the very next opportunity he’s granted.

“You can’t go wrong with a latte.”

Your lips purse and your gaze narrows playfully.  “Mm, not the most adventurous choice, is it,” your eyes drift down to his name tag,  “Shinso Hitoshi?”

Shinso usually hated when people did that–deliberately sought out and used his name while he was working–but, not surprisingly, you seem to be an exception.  He swears it sounds like you’re singing when you do it.

“Classic is classic.  ‘Adventurous’ is great until you end up with something undrinkable.”

“Oh come on.  Undrinkable?  Sure you’re not just being a coffee snob?”

Shinso raises an eyebrow.  This whole situation might have been new to him, but coffee was something he knew.  “Ever had a raw, deconstructed espresso?”

“Nope, but it sure sounds interesting.”

He scoffs.  “I thought so too at first. But trust me, chewing on espresso beans at 6 AM isn’t as fun as it sounds.”

You snort, covering your mouth to muffle some of the giggles.  When you recover enough to speak again, you do it through your fingers.  “You got your caffeine fix and a snack.  Sounds like a good time to me.”

“Yeah?”  Shinso smiles, draping an arm over the screen of his register.  “Well if that’s what you want, I’ve got some really tasty beans in the back.  I can whip one up for you real quick.  Takes less than 10 seconds to make, and let me tell you, the crunch is something else.”

 You hum for a moment, tapping your finger against the countertop.  “As enticing as your offer sounds, I think I’ve already figured out what I want.”  You don’t say anything as you reach into your bag and pull out your wallet, even though the sly look plastered across your face makes him think you have a lot of things to say.

“I’ll take a latte.”

Shinso raises an eyebrow, trying to seem incredulous, but smiling still.  “What, don’t feel like being ‘adventurous’ anymore?”

Your jaw hangs to the side, but the subtle twist of your lips betrays the playfulness behind the gesture.  As it turns out, both of you are terrible fakers.

“Oh hush.  I may not work here, but I’m pretty sure you’re not supposed to sass the customers.”

It was true, of course.  Still, if it means getting another snarky response from you, seeing those bright eyes light up with every quip, he’s more than willing to break a few rules.

Shinso grabs a cup and scribbles the order number across it with a sharpie.  “Of course, because the customer is always right.”  He makes sure his words are dripping with sarcasm.

“Absolutely.  Glad you’re not too prideful to admit it”  You tease right back at him, and the confidence in the way you tilt your chin upward and beam (adorable) has him chuckling.

“Wanna tell me your name, oh valued customer?  Or am I just drawing a smiley face on the cup?”  

Shinso could have very well poured your coffee, handed you the cup, and been done with it.  He didn’t need a name to do his job, not when you were already standing right there and it was a slow day like this.  He wanted it though, wanted to hear the way you said it, watch the way your lips twisted as it formed each syllable.  More than that, he wanted to say it himself–to see if repeating it back to you would break his trance, cool the heat searing his insides.

Something mischievous flickers in your eyes.  You make a show of scratching at your chin, smirking like you hold all the power in the world at that one moment.  And you do, as far as he’s concerned.  

“I kinda wanna see you draw a smiley face on it,” you pause, shifting your weight between both feet,  “Or a heart.  Whatever scribbles you feel compelled to leave for me.”

He stands there for what feels like hours, considering his next move.  You’d been flirting with him–that wasn’t even an opinion, it was cold-hard fact.  The question was, how was he supposed to respond without making a complete fool of himself?  He could barely think, what with the buzzing in his ears, the tightness in his chest–

“How about my phone number?”  Shinso doesn’t remember thinking the words, only the feeling of them sprinting up his throat–quick and jumbled and abrupt.

You stare up at him as if to see if the question isn’t some joke–another piece of banter thrown around for the sake of earning a laugh.  Your gaze falls to Shinso’s fingers, trembling as they clutch the sharpie in his fist, and your expression suddenly softens.

“I think I’d like that.”  You inhale.  “A lot, actually.”

“Awesome.”  He mutters, almost unconsciously.  The nervousness bundled into that one word is enough to make him wish he could sink into the floor.  Still, he doesn’t do that.  Partly because it isn’t possible, and partly because he still has something he needs from you.  “Afraid I still need your name though.”  Before he can blink, your smirk is back, as playful as ever.  

“Need?  Or want?”

“Want.”  There’s no hesitation in the word, breathed out like the prayer of a dying man–one with nothing left to lose and everything to gain.

You snicker when you finally say it, and he knows he’s been right all along–that it doesn’t take a minute to fall in love.

It takes five.

[theresnoturningback]

Gone Fishin’ [PART THREE]

A/N: I am so lucky to be able to do this, I am enjoying every minute of it. Thanks for making it possible. I am a blessed woman. My heart is full. I don’t know what else to say. I love that you love this little fanfiction work, even though is almost all fluff. Almost. Ugh, and no matter how I want to write it, Aasim will always find a way to be in whatever it is that I write. I hope enjoy part III. Comments and reblogs are always greatly appreciated Word Count: 5798

‘Hey Brody, wait up’

The girl turned around to see Louis running and waving at her

‘You can’t take it back, Lou. You promised you’d help me’ She protested, used to this kind of behavior on his behalf.

‘I won’t, I’ll be there...it’s just that…’ Brody raised an eyebrow and folded her arms, intrigued.

‘Would it be OK if I informed Clem about these last minute changes instead?’

‘I have no problem with you doing that. In fact, you’d be doing me a big favor’ She smiled.

‘Well, that’s what I’m here for; being helpful...You should go have some rest, get better soon, bye!’ He turned on his heels and ran back to the courtyard to look for Clementine, but she wasn’t there. There was a high chance she was still asleep.

As he walked, he wondered why he was so happy, if the girl he liked clearly didn’t like him back. A myriad of questions invaded his head

Why didn’t she show up yesterday? Why did she looked so hurt and conflicted last night at dinner?

She definitely didn’t like him the same way and judging by her behavior during dinner, she was looking for a way to reject him. At least that was his conclusion.

He shook his head as he quickened his steps. Whatever the scenario was, he needed to know.

He arrived at Clem and AJ’s room and announced himself, so the little boy wouldn’t get startled.

‘Hey, what’s happening in here?’ He exclaimed in his usual energetic tone.

Clementine and AJ both turned around to see him standing next to the boy and putting his hands on his hips

‘Hi Louis! Clem said I have to practice my reading’ AJ said with an annoyed smirk

‘Without having breakfast first?’ His eyes widened and turned to the girl ‘Are you crazy?’

‘It’s just a couple of sentences’ She defended herself, unamused

‘Come on, little dude, go eat something. I hereby release thee of this punishment’ Louis exaggerated his movements as he picked up the textbook he was reading, closed it and tossed it over the bed.

AJ chuckled, but still looked at Clementine for approval. She rolled her eyes and smiled at him.

‘Go…’ She conceded.

‘Thank you, see ya, Louis!’ AJ high-fived him.

‘See ya later, bud’

‘Be sure to thank Aasim for your new book’ Clementine yelled at the open door, hoping AJ heard.

Once alone, the atmosphere changed abruptly.

‘Well, look at you being a concerned mother’ He joked, resting his body weight on the back of the chair.

‘Say what you want, but he’s getting better’ Clementine stood up and started putting the books, pencils and papers away. Louis followed her with his eyes.

‘Well, I’m not surprised. He has a great teacher’ He commented in a mellow tone.

She pretended she didn’t notice his flirtatious mood, but she still couldn’t do anything about the reddening on her cheeks.

‘So’ She said sticking AJ’s latest doodles on the wall ‘What brings you here today?’

‘I have big news’ He straddled the chair so he could face her ‘We are going fishing today’

Clementine looked at him, confused.

‘We as in…?’

‘As in...you and me’ He confirmed with a big grin.

She grew silent, worried about Brody while Louis’ smile faded slowly at the thought that maybe he had been too eager in his announcement.

‘What happened to Brody, is she okay?’

‘Well, that’s the thing’ He shrugged ‘She says she is in a lot of pain and that she can’t eat, so she doesn’t have the physical strength to fish. That’s why she asked me to step up’

‘I understand’ She nodded. She noticed his chill attitude had dropped for some reason and decided to lighten up the mood ‘Is that why you came here all happy?’

‘I just like to fish, is all’ He shrugged nonchalantly. She knew he was lying, and laughed under her breath.

‘I’ll see you at the gates in 10 minutes, then’ Louis stood up and made his way out ‘Bring your knife, hopefully we’ll get to kill some walkers’.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Just as agreed, Clementine found Louis waiting for her, resting the big chair leg he used as a weapon on his shoulders.

‘Ready to go?’ She showed him her knife in response.

‘Ready’

‘Let’s go then…’

Most of the walk towards the cabin was silent.

The both of them wanted to start a conversation, but none of them knew how to do that without bringing up the events of the past two days.

‘I used to fish a lot with my family’ Louis finally mumbled, walking a couple of steps behind her, covering her back ‘‘before the world went to shit...and spearfishing is different to what I used to do, so don’t laugh too hard when I fail the first ten times’

‘I will try not to…’ She responded after snickering, but didn’t add anything to the conversation. Her thoughts  were loud enough to keep her silent the rest of the way.

The curiosity was eating him up inside. He had to know exactly how she felt about him.

No matter how hard he tried, he could never maintain a cool act for too long when he was alone with her.

‘So um...did you, by any chance, get anything that might have resembled a letter?’ He stuttered nervously.

Clementine understood immediately where his question was leading up to, but she didn’t know if she had it in her to know what his thoughts were about her written reply right then.

‘Yeah, I did’ she muttered more to herself than to him, looking at her feet as she walked steadily

‘Well, now you know Lou…’ He thought to himself, lips pressed tight in disappointment.

He was coming to terms with the fact that Clementine didn’t like him at all, at least not as he would like, when they arrived to the cabin.

Clementine took out a couple of spears and nodded at his friend to get a medium size bucket that was on the floor near him.

As she gave him one of the spears, she enquired timidly

‘Did you...read something that could have resembled a response to your letter? Maybe this morning...while playing the piano?’

His eyes darted around while he tilted his head to the side in confusion.

‘Louis…you...didn’t...?’

He looked at her, opened his mouth but words wouldn’t come out. He was honestly too shocked to realize she had taken the time to write a response.

‘Louis! I left you a letter on the piano last night!’ She confessed, raising her voice in frustration.

‘Im sorry! I didn’t have the chance to even look at the piano today! Marlon and Brody dragged me to Marlon’s office early and I….Oh’ His jaw dropped ‘Your letter is still there, isn’t it?’

‘Shit, Louis...I swear to God...’ She groaned, shaking her head in embarrassment and getting her spear.

‘Please don’t point that thing at me’ He yelped with genuine fear as she walked past him.

The next thirty minutes were slow and dreadfully silent. Both Clementine and Louis were too immersed in their own minds to talk to each other. They managed to catch a couple of fish each while thinking about what had just happened.

After a while, the river looked empty. All the fish had stopped swimming to their deaths and the two teenagers decided to wait for them to come back, getting away from the unrelenting sun and its heat. They sat under a tree and next to each other.

‘So…’ Louis finally broke the silence ‘What did your letter say?’

Clementine hugged her knees and shrugged, embarrassed

‘I wrote it so fast that I don’t remember anymore…’

‘It must have been a terrible letter’ They both shared a laugh.

‘It was, actually’ She glanced at him for a second ‘That’s why I’m burning the hell out of it as soon as we get back’

‘Not if I win that race and read it first’ He nudged her with a playful smile.

‘Bring it on’ She returned the gesture in a more reserved way.

The continuous murmuring of the stream filled their silences, make them at least bearable this time.

‘About your letter…’ Clementine smiled to herself, recalling that night she read his words for the first time ‘I can’t believe you’re actually glad I crashed my car’

Louis just looked at her, brows drawing together. He wanted to say how sorry he was for phrasing his feelings so badly, but he then saw in her eyes she wasn’t serious

‘Tell you what, I’ll let you burn what you wrote if you give me back that hideous paper’

‘Never!’ She chuckled ‘I’m holding it for future blackmail’

Clementine would cherish Louis’ words as long as she lived.

‘Then it’s only fair that at least I get a chance to read what you wrote me’ He insisted.

‘Fine..’ She surrendered to his bright eyes narrowing with glee.

They didn’t look away from each other for some seconds. It didn’t feel wrong just to silently admire each other, so there wasn’t really a reason to look away.

Louis looked away and sighed heavily. With the last bit of hope he had, he spoke again

‘What I really meant to say is…’ He fidgeted, trying to find courage to be completely honest with her and himself ‘I’m glad I met you...and I’m glad that you and AJ got to stay with us. Everything looks so different with you around’

Clementine felt her cheeks go warm, not allowing her to respond.

Seeing he’d get no other answer than her long silence, he stood up and resumed his task.

The girl was furious at herself. Why couldn’t she just tell her she liked him more than he could imagine? It was simple, in theory, but the more she thought about it, the less prepared she felt to open her mouth and say the words he so desperately wanted to hear.

She stood up, picked up her spear and fished in a separate section.

Not many fish came back their way, but she needed to be alone with her thoughts for a moment.

She looked at him from a distance. He had just pierced through a rather big fish in one swift move. She walked closer to his side as he put the dead animal inside the bucket. Both looked at the stream, prepared to catch the next one.

‘I wanted to apologize to you for not joining you’ She spoke softly, concentrated of the quick movement of the water.

A fish escaped Louis’ strike, making him frown and sigh. He couldn’t be angry at her for what she felt. It wasn’t fair.

‘Marlon told me that Brody told him that AJ told her that you were sick, or something’ He shook his head, worriedly ‘She shouldn’t have sent you here if you’re not feeling well, just as she is not here right now’

‘I’m OK, Louis’ Clementine walked away from the rocks while talking ‘That was a lie that AJ told Brody to cover me...I overslept’

‘You teach your kid to lie for you?’ He scoffed, faking disgust ‘The nerve…’

‘Hey!’ Clementine raised her voice and stomped back at him ‘You have no idea what I’ve gone through to keep him alive!’

‘I’m joking Clem, of course I’m joking’ He walked back, almost falling in the river ‘I wouldn’t even think that of you’ She crossed her arms, maintaining her defensive stance ‘I actually believe he’s got the best person to raise him right’

She gave up. There was no use to get mad at him about it. She knew he didn’t mean any harm. She turned around, put her spear down and sighed tiredly.

‘You overslept’ He continued, as he got no answer ‘That’s not a sin. We all do it from time to time’

She sat on the ground

‘Usually, I don’t. That’s why AJ probably thought I was sick’

He walked next to her and rested his body on the tree.

‘What kept you up all night, then?’ His steady eye contact made her heart skip a beat and look away.

‘Stupid stuff’ She shrugged.

‘You weren’t thinking about me...were you?’ He questioned hopefully.

She shook her head, smiling faintly with her eyes closed. She knew that if she looked at him know he’d know for sure.

‘You wish...’ Her eyes opened and fixated on the river, trying to think of anything else that wasn’t him. She finally decided to go and check on the traps.

He just looked at her walk away, in awe that such a shrewd-looking young woman could actually so secretive and charming at the same time.

If this was really a case of unrequited love, he knew he was screwed.

‘Help me out’ Clementine called, waking him from his daydream ‘Brody said there were a set of traps lined up over there’ She pointed away

‘I’m on it!’

Louis took a hair tie out of his pocket and put his dreadlocks up in a bun. Right after, he took off his jacket, so that he could be free from the unforgiving heat for a couple of minutes.

He noticed he had caught Clementine’s attention while he neatly folded his jacket and put it on the ground. He raised a brow

‘What? I’m hot! And I refuse to walk back to the school cooking myself in my own sweat’

He turned around and walked away.

She remained silent, judging his form as he marched away from her. She realized she never had the chance to see him like that. He looked like a whole new person. This look actually was much more fitting to his gregarious personality.

She looked away, trying to focus on picking up the few fish that got trapped. While putting the fish down in the bucket, she looked around. Louis was still working hard under the sun.

During the past few weeks, she had studied in secrecy every detail of his face, every freckle and the way that his eyes narrowed when he smiled, among other things. The more she watched him now, though,  the better he looked. With an intent gaze, she discovered another whole set of characteristics she clearly hadn’t seen before; They way he distributed his weight while standing, how his shoulders squared when he was trying hard to concentrate and the way his becoming features blended so harmoniously with the landscape as if he was music himself. It was almost troublesome now that she realized how handsome he really was.

‘Are you OK, Clem?’ The girl didn’t notice had already walked back with three small fish in his hands. Her absent-minded expression amused him greatly.

‘I was thinking I had never seen you without your jacket before…’ She squinted while looking up to meet his eyes

He put the fish down and put his hands on his hips.

‘And? What do you think?’ He asked, full of himself.

‘I think you need to mend the holes of your shirt’ She pointed at him ‘That’s unusable’

‘First of all, ouch….’ He put a hand on his chest ‘Now I have no other choice but to hide in my coat forever’

‘Or, maybe, I could sew it up for you sometime...if you want’ This made Louis extremely happy, but he tried to play it cool.

‘I like that idea, but here’s a counter-offer: What if you teach me how to do it, and then I can patch up my own stuff. I like to think I’m self sufficient, you know?’

He already knew how to sew, but he’d take every chance to share a moment with her.

‘That’s fine by me’ Her eyes smiled for a moment before looking at the bucket and

sighing ‘There’s barely food for all of us tonight…’ She said, disappointed.

‘Do you think that maybe if we fished with our bare hands, we’d catch more fish?’

She moved her gaze back to the boy. His eyes were lost in thought, as if he was honestly considering it ‘You know...like bears?’ He continued despite her silent judgment

‘I get it, Louis’ She sentenced with an exasperated sigh.

‘So…?’

‘So this is a serious matter!’

‘I am serious too!’ He defended himself ‘Well, most of the time…’

‘I hope the hunting party had better luck today’ She threw her head back and closed her eyes, looking for peace.

He let her had a moment of silence. Unfortunately for her, it didn’t last long enough.

‘Well, those fish aren’t coming back anytime soon’ He exclaimed looking at the river while untying one of his boots. She knitted her brows

‘What are you doing?’ she asked cautiously.

‘This heat is killing me, so I’m going to put my feet in the water for a while, maybe test my theory about the bears...have some fun’ He took his other boot off and put it away next to him ‘You’re more than welcome to join me’

‘Do we really have time for that??’ Clementine questioned ‘You know they expect us to bring back some food, right?’

‘And we already took care of that’ He nodded at the bucket full of fish. ‘It’s ready to go and I think we’ve earned the chance to unwind for a moment. Don’t you?’

‘I don’t know…’

‘Besides, you owe me from the other day…’

‘I don’t owe you anything!’ She protested, standing up before him ‘I never really accepted your offer in the first place’

‘Well’ He smiled charmingly down at her ‘You did tell me you wanted to apologize for not showing up…that means you had the intention to see me...am I in the wrong here?’

‘Ok, smartass, let’s relax’ She blurted, taking off her worned out hat, her jacket and untying her boots as Louis walked away triumphantly towards the river.

The water was cold to the touch, refreshing. He immediately decided to walk a little further, until the water covered his knees over his pants.

‘You’re getting all wet!’ Clementine commented, sitting down a rock, dangling her legs to damp her feet up to her ankles as she watched him look around himself.

‘Uh, I think that’s exactly the point of being in water’ He shouted back, walking five steps towards her ‘It’s hot as hell, I’ll dry out in an instant and I could really need some freshening up’ The girl shook her head, her curls hanging loose ‘And so could you’

‘Excuse me?’ She scoffed, offended

‘Hey, I’m an honest guy…’

‘That was rude, not honest...’

‘Seriously, though,when was the last time you washed your face?’ He waded towards where she was sitting and offered her his hand accompanied by a confident smile. She knew he was right, so she preferred not to argue back.

Clementine was hesitant at first, but she finally decided to get down from the rocks and settle herself in the water. The sensation of her clothes sticking to her skin wasn’t fun, but the warmth of her hand in his tight grip made her forget all about it.

He led her in the river with caution, not taking his eyes off her wary stance. She looked like a cat about to take a bath, but much more adorable.

She freed herself from his hand and washed her face meticulously. Louis fell speechless when in front of him there stood at renewed Clementine. Her skin looked soft and young, her many little scars adorned her face and neck in a way he hadn’t seen ever before.

He was truly captivated by her, while she didn’t know how to respond to his love-struck expression. This was all new, unexplored territory.

A splash of water to his face made him gasp for air. When he opened his eyes, he saw Clementine laughing wholeheartedly.

‘Oh, you’ll pay for that!’ He laughed with her, splashing back. These actions resulted in a good twenty minutes of horseplay in and out the water.

They were children once again, enjoying each other’s company, chasing and wrestling one another in the stirring waters that drenched them from the hips down. For a moment, they forgot all about the apocalypse, about Ericson and about everyone else.

Who cares how they got there?

Who cares about their past, their scars and their tragic memories?

They were there and that’s all that mattered.

Louis finally caught up to Clementine and lifted her in a hug. He lost balance over a slippery rock and they fell over.

She panicked for half the second her head was underwater. The last time she was completely submerged a body of water wasn’t exactly fun.

‘You OK?’ Louis helped her sit up, with worry in his face. She met his eyes and she suddenly didn’t care she was soaking wet and let out a nervous laugh

‘I’m okay, Louis...but I think that’s enough fun for today’ She stood up and managed to wade back to the riverside. The boy followed her.

They dried their feet with a piece of cloth they took from the cabin, put on their socks and boots and sat down near the high grass, hoping the sun was kind enough to dry their outfits before they had to head back to the school.

Clementine put her head on Louis shoulder absentmindedly. Only when she could feel Louis’ heartbeat quickening , she realized what she had done.

She didn’t regret it, though. Instead, she took the opportunity as a chance to prove she was brave enough to be honest about her feelings.

‘That night’ she began, hesitantly ‘I couldn’t stop thinking about your stupid face...and the words you wrote’ Louis looked down at her with raised eyebrows as she continued with a self-accusing tone ‘I must have read that letter at least five times before even thinking of going to sleep’ He did not answer. She looked up at him and kept on talking to avoid any more awkward silences ‘I’m also glad I could stay here… AJ needs a family like Ericson and I...I don’t think I could go back on the road after meeting you’

Louis tried to find the correct words to respond to her beautiful declaration of crush.

Just as he opened his mouth to speak, Clementine shivered and began trembling, despite the heat.

‘We shouldn’t have stayed so long in the water’ He said instead while standing up to get his coat ‘You’re gonna catch a cold’ He continued as he put it on her. She shook her head, smiling.

‘I had fun. It’s just that the cold and I don’t get along’ She confessed while adjusting the sleeves to her own arms length.

Louis lifted the short hair strands at the back of Clementine’s neck, so the coat would fit her better. His hands stopped moving as she looked up at him. He was paralyzed by her timid stare.

Slowly, he moved his right hand from the back of her neck to her cold cheek. Just as his thumb brushed against her jaw and the corner of her mouth, she felt her stomach flutter making her gasp lightly. She closed her eyes and rested her forehead against his, feeling unusually fragile at the touch of his fingers.

He simply could not close his eyes. His attention was fixed on her mouth and her shivering breaths, still in disbelief that she was so close to him. He wanted to kiss her so badly. His thoughts were racing and crashing inside his mind, but none of his muscles would react accordingly.

Noticing this, she pushed all her fears aside and put her right hand on his chest. She had no clue as to what she was doing. She only knew that every second was painfully long. She couldn’t take it anymore and leaned in to press her lips against his for a couple of seconds.

It was the first time both of them had kissed anyone with this amount of innocence.

Louis leaned back thinking that was it, but Clementine’s lips lingered on and followed his mouth almost instinctively. With eyes still closed, his name escaped her mouth in a breathy whisper, as if she was asking him to never leave her.

His eyes opened in response, her voice woke an unknown craving for her, he wanted her as close as possible at all times. He put his hand against hers on his chest, letting her know with the sole beating of his heart what she provoked in him.

His mouth met hers with parting lips, almost not touching. She didn’t like being teased like that. He soon discovered he secretly loved toying with her impatience. He tilted his head to the side and she put her arms around his neck, pulling him even closer to her.

She would have stayed that way forever, until an urgent gasp reminded her that she also needed air to live and as if she had just woken up from an vivid dream, she opened her eyes abruptly only to notice that Louis was just was short of breath as she.

‘I’m sorry’ she apologized multiple times, quickly pulling away from him, embarrassedly surprised by her newfound intensity. She stood up and began walking back to the school with arms around herself.

Once he finally realized what had just happened, Louis grabbed Chairles and ran behind her.

‘Hey, whoa, whoa! Don’t you think we need to address this issue before getting back?’ He said standing between her and the rest of the way.

‘Don’t you get the feeling we shouldn’t have done that?’ She answered, not stopping for one second.

‘I’m afraid the feeling I got was just the opposite’ He made her stop with both of his hands on her shoulders ‘In case you didn’t know, it’s the end of the world out here, and I stopped giving a shit a long time before that. I just want to live for today and enjoy whatever time I have left. I have absolutely nothing to lose’

Clementine’s eyes saddened at his blunt words.

She realized that if she lost him right after how he made her feel minutes ago, she wouldn’t be able to stand it.

She felt powerless.

‘Please, Louis...don’t say things like that’ She begged on the verge of tears. She pushed his arms away and kept walking firmly.

‘Just tell me you didn’t feel the same way I felt back there’ He insisted ‘Tell me you’d never do it again and I’ll leave you alone forever’

Forever is a long, long time. They both thought in a fraction of a second as the river sang its constant murmur. The sky was turning orange and the breeze started blowing a little colder. Clementine hugged herself, avoiding Louis’ interrogative eyes.

‘Whatever just happened...I can’t say I didn’t like it, and I can’t say I wouldn’t do it again’ She confessed, feeling warm only at her cheeks

‘All this time I thought you didn’t like me, but now it turns out you do... but now you don’t want us to be a thing...I’m super confused, I just don’t get what the problem is, Clem’ He blurted out impatiently.

‘I really like you, but-’ A rather loud hungry groan interrupted her.

She looked around to locate the threat, took the knife from her pocket, walked firmly past Louis and pushed it angrily against the skull of a legless walker.

They hadn’t noticed it crawling behind him all this time.

‘...But look at this mess…’ She pointed at the lifeless body with her knife. ‘We cannot live in our own bubble, away from the disaster that is the world today’ She shook her head, trying to convince herself, too ‘We just can’t’

‘Look, I’m just as lost as you are in here, but hear me out’ Clementine spotted another walker approaching quickly. She kicked its knee, making it lose balance and making it easier for Louis to finish it off with Chairles. He moved his stare from the grossly decayed corpse to her young, lively eyes ‘You can’t deny we make an amazing team’

‘Yeah, when we are focused...but when you’re too close to me, I lose track of time and reality and it’s...dangerous...I feel weak’ She wrapped her arms around herself

‘That’s how I feel, too...and I have no idea how it happened, all I know is that I like you, Clem, and I like you even more now that I’ve seen this side of you, I don’t care if it turns dangerous in the long term, this is what I care about right now...more than anything’

‘Louis-’

He wouldn’t let her keep protesting.

‘I want to keep discovering you, every side of you, and I want you to know me, too...like nobody does’

His words were almost unbearable for Clementine. She wanted to believe him, kiss him again, and forget all that drama. Instead, she put her knife away and turned around with the intention of walking towards the school gates.

Before she could take her first step, he took her hand and turned her back around to face him. He was soft with his touch, but his words were firm and decisive.

‘Sometimes you’re really hard to read’ He told her in a serious tone ‘Are you going to tell me why are you so scared of us?’

‘I’ve seen it too many times’ Her voice cracked when she looked at him in the eyes ‘People losing that one person they cared about the most...they end up broken beyond repair’

Her thoughts went to the memories of Kenny losing Duck, Katjaa and then Sarita. She recalled that fateful day when Christa lost Omid and then their child. She could have gone on and on about other people she’s seen lose part of themselves in childish stand-offs and misunderstandings, but her eyes shut close and with them all of her mind went black and red. She battled against her tears, but it was a losing fight in the end

‘If you ever…’ She dared to look at him again, with painful tears streaming down her cheeks

Louis dropped Chairles to the ground and pulled her close for a tight hug to hush her grim thoughts.

‘I already live with the constant fear of losing AJ forever, and now, the thought of losing you, too…’ she cried with her voiced muffled against his chest between helpless sobs.

He was shocked. Just the previous night he had gone to bed thinking this girl was indifferent to him, now he’s holding her as she cries mournful tears at the thought of him dying.

He caressed her hair as he shushed her tenderly.

‘It won’t be like that. It won’t be like any of those times’ He promised her, shutting his eyes closed as she tightened her grip around his waist, sniffling ‘We’re stronger together. Stronger than any other team you’ve ever seen. You’ll see...’

They remained close to each other in silence until Clementine finally got a hold of herself. She pulled away from him with a long sigh, her eyes and cheeks were drenched in her own tears, but looked away when she talked

‘I just can’t afford to lose you like I’ve lost everyone else’

He gave him a reassuring smile as he dried her remaining tears with his thumb

‘I’m honestly amazed that you think you can get rid of me so easily’

She tried to laugh, but couldn’t play along.

She buried her face in his chest once again and apologized several times, more to herself than to him. It was unlike her to act like this around others, she’d usually just keep her raw feelings to herself, but this time she couldn’t avoid them and that frustrated her to the point of tears. She had heard him say that he wanted to know her as she really was, but she hated this side of her and the fact that he got to see it.

‘It’s okay, Clem’ He comforted her softly ‘I won’t insist, I promise...we can take it as slow as you want, or just don’t take it at all...whatever you decide’ He didn’t know why he added the latter, but sadly enough,that option was now available for her.

‘Thank you’ She muttered, not being able to face him.

She turned around and he let her go just as fast as he held her close minutes before.

They kept a distance from each other, the atmosphere had turned awkward once again.

Their pace was tired and slow.

The sun was setting just as they ran into Marlon, Violet, Aasim and AJ.

The little boy shouted Clementine’s name and ran to embrace her, only to pull away almost immediately after not recognizing her usual scent.

‘Is that Louis’ jacket? He looked up at her  ‘Where is your hat?’

The three teenagers were still standing there, confused as they’d ever be

‘What happened out there?’ Marlon asked first, then turned to Louis ‘Where’s Chairles?’

Before Louis could even realize he went back unarmed, Aasim stepped up to continue the interrogation

‘Where’s the fish?’ His tone was more apprehensive than concerned. Violet tried to be more careful in her questioning.

‘Were you guys attacked?’ She said, hoping for a negative answer.

Clementine and Louis shared a look and nodded.

‘Five of them’ Louis started

‘They caught us with our guard down while we were f-fishing’ Clementine continued, discreetly eyeing his party mate.

‘Yep, that’s why we’re like this’ The boy concluded, hoping their friends wouldn’t keep questioning them.

‘You know we need the food’ Aasim continued, a line forming between his brows

‘And I need my bat, Sherlock’ Louis argued back, crossing his arms in front of him ‘I’m going back for all of it’

‘I am’ Clem stepped up ‘You’re not going anywhere unarmed. I’ll make a run for it. I’ve done it before’

‘I will go, too’ AJ proposed

‘No, it’s getting dark and I don’t want to be there more than necessary

’

‘But, Clem-’

‘I said no, Alvin Junior, that is final!’ She sentenced with a harsh tone she rarely used on the kid. She wasn’t proud of her emotions ruling her mind and she didn’t want to feel her friends’ judging stares any minute longer, so she turned around and ran back into the woods.

Violet and Marlon shared a look.

Aasim looked at Louis and then at AJ, both of them had a hurt expression in their eyes.

‘Don’t worry’ He said to the kid, taking out his bow ‘I’ll watch over her’ he looked back at Louis and nodded.before running off behind the girl.

[pengychan]

[Coco] Nuestra Iglesia, Pt. 4

Title: Nuestra Iglesia Summary: Fake Priest AU. In the midst of the Mexican Revolution, Santa Cecilia is still a relatively safe place; all a young orphan named Miguel has to worry about is how to get novices Héctor and Imelda to switch their religious vows for wedding vows before it’s too late. He’s not having much success until he finds an unlikely ally in their new parish priest, who just arrived from out of town. Fine, so Padre Ernesto is a really odd priest. He’s probably not even a real priest, and the army-issued pistol he carries is more than slightly worrying. But he agrees that Héctor and Imelda would be wasted on religious life, and Miguel will take all the help he can get. It’s either the best idea he’s ever had, or the worst. Characters: Miguel Rivera, Ernesto de la Cruz, Héctor Rivera, Imelda Rivera, Chicharrón, Óscar and Felipe Rivera, OCs. Imector. Rating: T

[Tag with all chapters up here.]

[Also on Ao3]

A/N: I finished proofreading this while half-drunk at the airport. Here's hoping that's not too obvious.

***

Considering that Ernesto had absolutely no clue what the hell he was even doing, he thought things were going rather well.

His way of handling things had definitely raised a few brows, of course, but no one had called his bluff and no one was chasing him with sticks demanding to know what he’d done with the real priest - funny story, that. So he counted it as a success.

He’d even remembered how to handle the Rite of Eucharist, even if he’d maybe gulped down more wine than he should have, because at one point he could have sworn he’d seen Sister Sofia licking her lips while staring at him from her place among the other nuns. He’d blinked and she looked perfectly normal, so he must have imagined it - a sure sign he’d gone too long without a woman.

Other than that, all was well. The Mass was over, everyone go in peace or something, and his cover was still up - a rather original priest from out of town. Even that bag of laughs of the Mother Superior seemed to suspect nothing. She looked slightly perplexed, maybe, but nothing more. He could pull this off for as long as it was needed.

If he didn’t know that would look odd, Ernesto would have patted himself on the back; instead, he just settled for exchanging pleasantries and nods with the parishioners as they began leaving the church… only that quickly enough the steady line towards the exit came to a halt, and a few murmurs went through the crowd, causing Ernesto to blink.

“Who may that be?”

“A gringo…?”

“Mamá, why is that man pink?”

What the…?

The crowd seemed to suddenly part in two, like the Red Sea before Moses - look, mamá, I’m getting the hang of this priest thing - and walking up to him there was… well, it was a gringo all right, with straw-like hair and beard. And, unless that town had somehow become a beacon for chronic liars in clergy clothes, he was also a priest.

Uh-oh.

“Father Ernest,” the man called out, and took another step forward, bowing his head slightly. It was only the two of them before the altar, everyone else several steps away. Ernesto had enough time to wonder if he was really talking to him, but not enough say anything - let alone to correct him on his name - before he spoke again. “Laudetur Jesus Christus.”

Ernesto blinked. “I don’t speak English,” he said, only realizing his mistake when the priest - Ernesto had never in his life seen someone so ridiculously pink - blinked, taken aback.

“Wha–” he began, only to trail off when someone suddenly laughed uproariously and grasped Ernesto’s cassock.

“Hahahaha! Good one!” Miguel exclaimed, grinning up at both of them. Where had he come from? “It was funny, wasn’t it? Padre Ernesto tells the best jokes!”  he added, and the grip on the cassock tightened. Realization - he knew - hit Ernesto like a jolt, but he managed not to make his shock plain. Despite the fact his heart seemed to have sunk somewhere in the vicinity of his kneecaps, Ernesto managed to smile.

“I can never resist,” he said, gaining himself a less than impressed look from the other man - who was, very clearly, allergic to fun. Still, his gaze softened when he looked at Miguel.

“Oh, the altar boy,” he said. His Spanish was… passable, Ernesto supposed, but the accent was so thick it made some words quite hard to understand. “Good afternoon. I’m Father John. And you are…?”

“Miguel. I, uh, really need to speak to Padre Ernesto a minute here, but I’ll give him back–”

“It won’t be long, Michael,” Father John said, causing Miguel to blink in confusion and Ernesto to frown. “Father Ernest and I–”

“Ernesto,” Ernesto found himself saying, more coldly than he should have. He had to shed who he was, and he had to shed his surname, but the name his parents had given him was still his own and like hell he’d let some sunburnt gringo twist it. “I was christened Ernesto, with an o at the end. And his name is Miguel.”

It was as though he had said nothing at all. “–Have some matters to discuss,” he finished, and turned those unnerving watery eyes back to him. Ernesto met his gaze with an unimpressed look of his own. In a way, annoyance was a blessing: it kept him from freaking out over the fact that, well, the altar boy had caught him out.

“Sure thing, Padre Juan,” he said, his voice tight, and the faint smile on Father John’s face faded.

Good.

He fully expected a cold remark, but just then Héctor approached with quick steps, waving off the small crowd that had been standing a few steps away. They seemed to get the message and resumed walking out of the church, although several of them paused to glance back, clearly puzzled. The nuns, too, looked perplexed as they passed by. Soon enough, there was only them in the church… and a very confused-looking Gustavo somewhere in the back.

“We had no idea there would be a visitor,” Héctor said, smiling widely. His voice seemed to echo in the church. “Welcome among us, Padre… I’m sorry, I did not catch that. My ears were kind of ringing a bit. The organ, you know?”

“Juan,” Ernesto quipped.

“John,” the gringo said pointedly, then smiled at Héctor. “I supposed you are the novice Father Edmund spoke of so highly of in his letters. Brother Hector, is that it?”

He pronounced it funny, but at least his name was spared. Héctor nodded. “That would be me, yes. Did you say Padre Edmundo wrote to you?”

A nod, and Father John turned back to Ernesto. The smile had already faded. “I understand that you have only just arrived in this parish,” he said. “Fresh out of seminary, I assume.”

Fresh out of the army and oh, did I learn a thing or two there I’d like to do right now.

“You could say that,” Ernesto said instead, his voice carefully controlled, gaining himself another nod.

“I have been in touch with your predecessor, may God take him in His glory. He kindly said he’d let me stay for a time. I have been traveling Mexico for the past year--”

“Vacation?” Ernesto guessed. The guy had noticeable self-control, he had to give him that, but this time he just barely stopped himself from rolling his eyes.

“I am on a mission, on behalf of the Holy Catholic Church,” he said, his voice tight. It made his awful accent even worse, somehow. “To evangelize the people of this country.”

Ernesto blinked, and turned to Héctor, who looked back at him at an absolute loss. Not help there, then. Wondering if he hadn’t simply heard wrong - he was hard to understand at times, really - Ernesto cleared his throat. “You might be… a few centuries too late.”

“The work of God is never done.”

“No, I mean… you are. Everyone and their dog is already Catholic,” Ernesto pointed out, and the gringo glowered at him.

“Surely you jest,” he muttered. “Although this is no jesting matter. Animals lack souls. They cannot possibly be Catholic.”

Oh, Jesus Christ.

“I didn’t mean that literally. Either way, the fact stays that we’re all Catholic. So sorry you had to waste a trip. But if you’d like to stay a night or two before you move on someplace else where your help is needed--”

“From what I have seen today, I believe my help is needed here and now. Especially during Lent, I believe it quite important that the holy Mass is held properly,” Father John cut him off, and Ernesto held back a groan. All right, so this guy clearly was not a fan of the spin he’d put to the traditional mass. Can’t please everyone and all that, but did he really have to be such a miserable pain in the ass?

“Well, things are still a bit, uh. As you said, I just arrived. But I guarantee we are all Catholic, so it would be rather redundant to bring over Catholicism all over aga--”

“I am talking of proper Catholicism, Father Ernest,” the man said, tilting up his chin. “Not the watered down kind you practice here, laced with pagan fetishes and superstition.”

Hijo de tu puta madre, Ernesto thought. It was a very tempting retort to utter, if a decidedly un-priestly one - and maybe the thought had showed on his face, because suddenly there was another very urgent pull at his cassock and Miguel was speaking fast.

“No! I mean-- that’s really interesting, Padre Jua-- Father John!” he blurted out, and smiled, ignoring how both Ernesto and Héctor were blinking down at him. “Why don’t you hold mass for a while? As our guest?”

That caused the gringo to blink before the surprise melted in a smile that was surprisingly warm. “I’d be happy to, if Father Ernest is willing to let me.”

“Wha--” Ernesto began to protest, only to trail off when Miguel’s foot suddenly stomped down on his - a sudden, painful reminder of two things: that the boy knew, and that he couldn’t hold mass for shit. “Agh! I mean - ah, what a good idea!”

Héctor frowned, eyes shifting between them. “Miguel, are you all--”

“Never been better! But now I think I really need to borrow Padre Ernesto for a minute. Or two. Or twenty,” he exclaimed, grinning widely, and began dragging Ernesto towards the sacristy. “Why don’t you show Father John around? Gustavo can look after his… horse?”

“I came with a donkey.”

“An ass on top of an ass,” Ernesto muttered under his breath, and held back a yelp when Miguel swiftly kicked his shin. Within moments they were back in the sacristy, and Miguel was slamming the door shut behind them. “That kick was entirely unnecess--”

“Who are you?” Miguel demanded to know, crossing his arms, and Ernesto shut his mouth.

Oh, he thought. Right. He figured it out. Should have left him to drown.

“I…” he began, glancing around the sacristy. He had left his gun in his room, hidden in the mattress, but he wouldn’t need that to overpower a child. He could smother him easily. But still, how could he get away without anyone noticing? Witnesses had seen him entering the room with Miguel; even if he got out from the back door after dealing with him, he… he…

“You are not a priest,” Miguel said, arms still crossed, but he didn’t look hostile; rather, he seemed curious - the way kids can be, and the full implications of what he’d been thinking hit him like a bucket of cold water. For a moment he could see the glare of the sun on the barrel of his gun and Alberto’s unprotected back in front of him, and smell gunpowder and blood in the air… only that now he wasn’t looking at a grown man at all.

A kid, Jesus Christ, he was standing there thinking of how to best kill a kid.

“Uh, Padr-- Ernest-- señor?” Miguel’s voice reached Ernesto as though from a mile away; there was no mirror for him to look into nearby, but if there were, he was fairly sure he would have found himself staring at a face as pale as ash. He staggered backwards, and his back hit the wall.

“I…” he began, and swallowed. He could taste bile in the back of his throat. If he’d had a gun at had, if not for that gringo and for Héctor just out of the door, what would have have done? “Miguel, I… how…?”

Entirely unaware of the thoughts that had been storming through his mind, Miguel shrugged. “I saw you trying to read the Bible. You didn’t just decide to do things differently, right? You don’t know any Latin.”

“I…” Ernesto swallowed again. His mouth felt dry as sandpaper. “No. I don’t know Latin.”

“So you are not a priest.”

“... No. I need to know, did you tell anyone--”

“Of course not!” Miguel exclaimed, cutting him off, and now he seemed offended. “You kept the secret when you found me at the stream and I wasn’t supposed to, remember?”

Ernesto blinked. That… wasn’t the reply he had expected, but it made sense, in a childish kind of way. Won’t tell if you don’t. “Ah,” he said, and sighed in relief. “That.”

“And I know people would assume all the wrong things, like, that you’re a spy from the government,” Miguel went on, rolling his eyes and not realizing the way Ernesto had stilled. “They see spies in every newcomer - I bet they’ll watch that gringo like hawks now. They think I don’t understand what they’re talking about, but I do. So maybe they would get the wrong idea, but I know better,” he added, and grinned. “You’re a good guy.”

“... Am I now?”

Miguel nodded, in a way only a nine year old stating the tenets of the universe can. “Yes! You saved me from the stream, kept it a secret, and then taught me a song,” he declared, counting each feat on his fingers. “That’s good guy stuff. You can’t be with the government.”

Ernesto blinked for a few more moment before giving a guffawing laugh. What a childish, simplistic world view… and how very convenient for him. “No,” he said, and crouched down to be closer to Miguel’s eye level. “I am not with the government. Not anymore.”

For a moment, the boy seemed to falter. “Anymore…?”

“I was forced to join the army, and escaped.” Shot a man in the process, but all wars have their casualties. “Now I’m hiding from them.”

“Oh, I see. They forced some men from here to join, too. So you switched sides?”

“No,” Ernesto replied, more harshly than he’d meant to. “I have no side. I want no part in this war at all. I’m just trying to live through it - I’m a musician, not a damn soldier.”

Miguel nodded. “Oh, that’s why you’re so good at playing and singing! And that’s why you’re pretending to be a priest… without knowing Latin. You didn’t plan this very well, did you?”

Ernesto rubbed the back of his neck. “Planning is… not my greatest talent. I met the priest who was sent here from Oaxaca on the way, but he was caught up in a fight. Didn’t make it. That’s when I decided to take his place. I seized my moment,” he added. It sounded better than ‘I am sort of winging it as I go’, which was the overly honest version.

The notion seemed to sadden the boy, but only for a few moments. After all, they were talking about a man he had never met nor known. “Will they hang you if they catch you?” he asked, and suddenly sounded excited. Ernesto did not like that.

“... Very likely. I’d rather not find out, though,” he added, reaching up for his throat.

“Fair enough. Good thing I can help you!”

Ernesto blinked. “What?” he asked, and Miguel grinned, starting to pace back and forth.

“Yes, it’s perfect! That gringo arrived just at the right time!”

“Wha--”

“Everyone will focus on him! And he can say mass while you learn Latin!”

“I am not going to learn--”

“All right, maybe not that, but you can memorize the stuff you need to say! I did,” the boy cut him off, and tapped his forehead. “It’s all in here. It’s boring, but I can help you!”

Ernesto blinked, taken aback. The notion of keeping up that charade for more than a few days seemed… slightly less insane than it had just a few minutes ago, really. He was a good actor; he had good memory. Maybe he could pull it off, and get to spend the rest of that stupid war hidden away in that small town, eating three meals a day and with very little danger of being caught and hanged. He just needed… a little help.

“You can help me,” he repeated, and raised an eyebrow. “All right. What’s the catch, niño?”

He’d half-expected the boy to play innocent, but he didn’t even bother to; instead, he smiled widely. “I need your help to stop Héctor before he becomes a priest.”

That was just about the last thing he expected to hear. “You need my help to-- what?”

Miguel rolled his eyes. “Oh, come on! He shouldn’t be a priest! He should marry Imelda, everyone knows he likes her!”

“And Imelda is…?”

“Oh, right. You haven’t met her. They call her Sister Gisela now.”

Ernesto could feel the first stab of something that threatened to turn into a huge headache. “You want me get a novice to drop his vows and marry a nun, did I hear that right?”

“She’s not a nun yet! We also have to stop that from happening, by the way.”

“I have to stop him from becoming a priest, her from becoming a nun, and get them married.”

“Yes!” Miguel exclaimed, clearly glad to see he’d caught on. “I mean, you’re the parish priest! Well, the think you are. They will listen to you,” he added, then paused, frowning in thought. “... Well, maybe Héctor is more likely to listen. But you should talk with Sister Sofía! She also thinks they should drop their vows, and Imelda listens to her. Sorta. Kinda. Maybe.”

“I’m sorta, kinda, maybe thinking I should have let the army hang me.”

Miguel made a face. “Being hanged sounds unpleasant.”

All right, so maybe that was exaggerating just a little bit. Ernesto shrugged, conceding the point. “Fine. Let me see if I understood you correctly. You are going to keep this a secret and teach me whatever crap I have to say during Mass while Padre Culo Blanco covers that for time being,” he said, jabbing an index finger against Miguel’s chest before pointing at himself with the thumb. “And in exchange, I convince a priest and a nun--”

“They aren’t yet a priest and a nun.”

“Fine. I convince two novices to drop their holy vows and know each other biblically, possibly within the sacred bond of marriage. Is that it? That’s the deal?”

Miguel seemed just slightly confused. “What does it mean, know each other biblically?”

“How old are you again, niño?”

“Nine.”

“... It means they kiss.”

“Eeeugh.”

Ernesto raised an eyebrow. “That’s rich, coming from a self-professed matchmaker,” he joked, but the smile faded quickly. “Miguel. Do you swear you won’t say a word about this?”

“I’ll be silent as a grave,” the kid promised, and as he began quickly suggesting a course of action for his - their - matchmaking project, Ernesto did his best to listen… and not to think of the terrifying moment when he’d seriously considered blowing a hole in the boy’s head.

***

“Juanita doesn’t like that gringo.”

“Juanita doesn’t like anyone.”

“I don’t like that gringo.”

“You don’t like anyone, either.”

Chicharrón scoffed, and held the rooster in his lap somewhat protectively. “I like Juanita.”

“... Right.”

“No one likes that gringo, Héctor,” Cheech muttered through the stick in his mouth, and Héctor had to admit he had a point. Most people had put on a polite expression because that’s what you do with a priest, after all… but anyone who knew them - and he would, he’d grown up in those streets - could tell.

It was hard to trust newcomers, those days; Padre Ernesto was already well-liked, despite raising a few brows with that… interesting Mass, but it didn’t mean he was fully trusted. And that man - an American - seemed suspicious from a mile away. Distrust was natural and, really, he wasn’t helping his case at all with his condescending comments on how they handled religious matters, about pagan beliefs to be eradicated, how he was on a mission on God’s behalf to set things right.

Honestly, despite the smile Héctor had pasted on his face, he couldn’t recall anyone going that out of his way to grate on everyone’s nerves since… Gustavo, maybe, back when he’d just arrived at the orphanage and mocked everyone else by insisting that he wasn’t like them, he had a mamá and she would be back to pick him up soon, just you wait, she’ll be back for me before you know it.

She had never come, and Héctor had felt sorry for him, but all of his attempts at showing friendship were thrown back in his face and thus he’d stopped trying very quickly. This, however, was a priest - someone he should at least try to get on with.

“He’s not that bad,” he muttered, tuning his guitar. To be fair, Father John hadn’t been like that the entire time. He’d told him a few really interesting things about his travels, had been really interested in the charity work the parish did and shown interest in getting involved, and he’d seemed genuinely impressed by what little English Héctor could speak - which, to be entirely honest, wasn’t as good as the man’s slightly shaky Spanish. He’d smiled warmly, corrected his pronunciation, and then even laughed a bit.

“My apologies, I forget myself,” he’d said. “I’m not here for a language lesson - but sometimes it feels good, hearing your language when you’re far from home,” he’d added, and then suddenly excused himself.

Héctor strummed the guitar, a frown creasing his brow. There had been something on the man’s face as he’d spoken those words, there one moment and gone the next: a sort of desperate longing that had made him pause. He remembered seeing that look before, on the faces of other children who talked about parents they would never see again.

Unaware of his thoughts, Cheech was scoffing. “He is that bad. Bad news.”

“Maybe we should give him a chance. Maybe he’s just… well…”

“A pompous white ass.”

“American.”

“That’s what I said.”

Héctor laughed. “Hah! Don’t let him hear you.”

“I want him to hear me.”

“And I would like to change subject,” Héctor said, rolling his eyes. Come to think of it, where was Miguel? After he’d gone off somewhere with Padre Ernesto, he hadn’t seen him aroun--

“Oh, right. Almost forgot. They’re coming to take their stuff tonight.”

The casual comment caused Héctor to wince, and his hand slipped off the guitar strings. “Cheech! Not that loud!”

“And who’s gonna hear us, dead people?” Chicharrón scoffed, but he did him the favor to lower his voice. “It’s all sorted, in the usual coffins, in the usual place. You would know, you moved them. They’ll be gone by morning and that will be it.”

“Until the next message.”

“Until the next message, yes,” Cheech muttered, and scratched Juanita’s head. “Wonder who else gets them. I doubt we’re the only ones.”

Héctor had wondered that from time to time, too, and more. “Do you ever wonder who is it, leaving us instructions?”

“Oh, of course. I thought it was old Alejandro for a while, but then he went six feet under and the notes kept coming. Same handwriting and all,” he said, and shrugged. “Maybe it’s Ceci.”

“Ceci?” Héctor repeated, raising an eyebrow. It seemed… unlikely, that their local seamstress would be the mind behind it all. Of course, you never know; something was slightly off with her, with the amount of clothes for the poor that had suddenly become ‘unmendable’ and disappeared. Ceci had always taken pride in her skill to salvage even the most worn-out rags, and Héctor suspected that some of those clothes were mendable after all, and went to other people who had use for them. Can’t fight a Revolution naked, after all.

“I saw her around here not long before I found the note in the usual place,” Cheech was saying, unaware of his thoughts. “This is not the day to collect donated clothing.”

“She was here to make changes to the robes. They’re too tight for Padre Ernesto.”

“Hmmm. Guess that explains it,” Cheech muttered, and shrugged again. “Well, I got nothing, then. I could be anyo--”

“Héctor! Are you still wasting your time with the old goat?” Gustavo’s voice rang out.

Cheech let out a grumble. “Except this cabrón.”

“... Yes. Except this cabrón,” Héctor muttered, causing the old man to chortle.

"Oh, listen to yourself, Brother Héctor. You’ll have to wash your mouth with soap now."

Héctor laughed, and stood. Gustavo was at the low wall between the path and the cemetery, a scowl on his face. "Here you are. Sofía decided to make me her errand boy and--"

"Sister Sofía, you mean."

“I can think of other ways to call her, and none of them is sister,” Gustavo scoffed. "She says dinner is ready, and that you should dine with Padre Ernesto and Padre Jua-- Father John," he corrected himself quickly, and Héctor had to hold back a chuckle. So, that nickname was catching up already. Father John wasn't going to be pleased, but then again he seemed difficult to please either way.

"You're lucky, no chorizo,” Gustavo was going on. “You should live to see another day."

The remark caused Héctor to scowl. "It was one time," he protested. Really, one time you eat too quickly, one time you get a chorizo stuck in your throat, one time you puke it right back up in front of everyone, and there is some pendejo who'll never let you forget about it.

"And very nearly your last,” Gustavo mocked him, and turned to walk away. Héctor wondered about that; usually, as the sexton, he had most meals at the parish.

“Aren’t you coming?” he called out, gaining himself a scoff and a glare over his shoulder.

“Unlike a certain someone, I have more to do then toying with guitars.”

Héctor rolled his eyes. “Self-important jerk,” he muttered, and headed back to the parish with the guitar over his shoulder.

***

Ernesto had never enjoyed killing.

He had done it anyway, of course, and several times. During a battle or an ambush, to finish off wounded enemies afterwards - those were the easiest ones, because it was kill or be killed in one case and a mercy in the other.

But then there had been the other times. The times were men would stand accused of aiding the revolutionaries, found guilty after a joke of a trial, and publicly shot; the times he was picked to be part of the firing squad and made himself go through the motions, the screams and pleas and curses of those witnessing - mothers and wives, sons and daughters and brothers and sisters - ringing in his ears for a long time afterwards.

There had been one time when they’d begun moving on, only to hear the village’s church ringing its bell in a death toll to mourn their dead; their commander had been so infuriated that he’d made them all turn around, had the bellringer dragged out, and shot him point blank in the face. Ernesto hadn’t been the only one to turn on his saddle to vomit in the dirt.

The nightmares had eased after some time, but that bitter taste in the back of his throat would return, unannounced, more often than he’d have liked. He’d tasted it after gunning down Alberto to get away, after ending the dying priest whose cloth he’d taken, and he could taste it now, too. He hadn’t shot Miguel for knowing too much, but the thought had been there and Christ, he needed something strong to wash it away. Except that he could have no such thing, because good old Padre Juan had decided that they shouldn’t have even wine.

“It is Lent, after all. We are meant to give up on such small luxuries. Our Lord certainly had none, alone in the desert as he faced the Devil.”

No, Ernesto had no taste for killing… but the more that gringo talked, the more he felt that could be an exception. Thankfully, Brother Héctor had taken one for the team by engaging with that ass first; it seemed to have backfired, because now he just wouldn’t stop spewing out theological crap and suggesting he could give him English lessons. It was easy to tell Héctor was regretting his decision to start small talk, but Ernesto had absolutely no desire to intervene. The less he had to talk with John Proper Catholicism Johnson, the better.

Really, at that point Héctor just kept nodding with a rather faraway look in his eyes. Was he thinking about this Imelda to keep himself sane? Ernesto sure hoped so, as he hoped he would find the note he had slipped under his door. Miguel had said he’d make sure the other one would find its way in Imelda’s own room. Not precisely the brightest or most original of plans, getting them alone in the same place at night, but they had to start somewhere.

If those two liked each other as Miguel claimed they did, it might just work.

“... As a matter of fact, I never found any of you to be intellectually lacking compared to the white man, save a few exceptions,” the gringo was saying, so very magnanimously. “I do disagree with that school of thought. One cannot help the circumstances of one’s birth, but it is our duty to seek to elevate ourselves and help those less fortunate--”

Ernesto forced himself to let go of the fork. Anything could be turned into a weapon and he was Not Supposed to kill any more priests that week. Or ever, possibly. And well, it looked like he wasn’t the only one who was getting seriously fed up. A few steps away, Sister Sofía - or Sister Sophie, according to the gringo - was holding a frying pan in her hand, eyes shifting from it to Father John and then back again.

Ernesto smiled a bit, and that was when her gaze paused on him. She raised both eyebrows.

You can absolve me later, she mouthed, and Ernesto bit the inside of his cheek not to laugh.

“... What do you think, Father Ernest?” Father John’s grating voice caused him to recoil and look back to him… and at Héctor, who looked like he’d had his soul sucked out of his body.

“Huh?”

“I asked if you’d like to join Padre Hector and me in the chapel for the evening prayer. Certainly that is not a good habit you have shed along with your Latin, is it?”

Ernesto’s eyes flickered behind him. Sister Sofía raised the frying pan, tilting her head in a mute question. It was funny enough to help him not lose his temper, and he managed to smile as though he meant it. “I would love to, but I prefer to say the evening prayer on my own,” he said. “After some private reflection.”

To his relief, he didn’t insist further; he just wished him and Sister Sophie a good night, and left along with a rather resigned-looking Héctor. Ernesto sighed and leaned back on the chair as soon as the door closed behind them. “God give me patience.”

“I’ve got something better,” Sister Sofía said, and within moments there was a bottle of mass wine on the table, plus a second glass. Ernesto raised an eyebrow, and she shrugged. “What Padre Juan doesn’t know cannot hurt him. As much as I would like to do that at times,” she quipped, pouring wine in his glass, and Ernesto barked out a laugh, taking it.

“Telling me you’d like to harm another member of the clergy, Sister?”

“You can absolve me later,” she smiled, and picked up her own glass. “He’s probably going to be a complete killjoy at Mass. A shame, that,” she added, and smiled, putting a hand on his arm.  “I liked your take on it.”

Ernesto thought back of the moment when he’d thought he had seen her licking her lips while staring at him and wondered, suddenly, if that hadn’t been just his imagination after all.

“... I think I noticed,” he found himself saying, and her laughter as she lifted the glass - the glint in her eyes as she glanced at him as though he were a tasty morsel - confirmed his suspicion. He found he liked that thought; there was something flattering about it. She wasn’t that much to look at, short and thin as a twig in robes that were hardly meant to be flattering, but he hadn’t been with a woman for so, so long.

You have a cover to keep, no point in risking it. This is not the hill you want to die on, idiota.

But then again, a nun? She had all the more reasons to keep whatever may happen a secret, he thought as she brought the glass to her lips with a smile. Ernesto did the same and finally, as he gulped it down, the taste of bile in the back of his throat began to fade.

***

His old Bible was where John had left it, on the small table at his bedside.

Most of his few belongings had yet to be unpacked - he’d simply left them in the small room he’d been offered before Brother Hector had begun showing him around - and he would do that early the next morning. Now he was so tired, he wished for nothing but sleep. But not just yet; with his evening prayers uttered, there was one thing yet to do before he could rest.

First thing in the morning and last thing in the evening, so that you never forget.

There was a folded, worn-out letter marking the page he was looking for. He held it in one hand, careful not to crease it, and his eyes rested on the one passage he’d underlined, circled, and read so many times. And he read it again now, so he could never forget.

Then, he unfolded the letter. It wasn’t a much longer read than the passage; a few sentences that were like a slammed door. John read each word, folded the sheet of paper again, placed it back on the Bible, and closed it. He kissed its cover, put it down on the table and then - only then - did he reach up to wipe his eyes with the heel of his hand.

It hurt. Twelve years, and it still hurt. Every morning and evening, until he could redeem himself; until he saved enough souls to be deserving of a second chance for his own.

So that you never forget.

***

Getting in the basement of the orphanage was… oddly easy.

It would have been easy either way, truth be told: Héctor had access to the keys of the small door that let to it from outside, and he had taken them before leaving the parish, but as it turned out it wasn’t needed. After going down the stone steps below the road level, he’d found the door was already open. That was… odd, but no odder than the note he had found in his room when he’d returned after the evening prayer with Father John.

Come at the orphanage’s basement at midnight. It is important. Tell no one.

It was written in uppercase, and he did not recognize the handwriting. He wondered if it may be from the same person who left Cheech the instructions about the weapons and supplies, but he had never seen what the writing in those looked like, so he wasn’t sure.

He’d show Cheech the note and ask the next day; now he had to focus on… whatever that was about.

Why me, though? Cheech is their man. I only helped him.

A good question, and with nothing anywhere close to an answer. That unnerved him more than the near-complete darkness in the basement; the candle he’d lit gave some light, but the deep shadows it cast only made the place more ominous. But he had been there before as a child, sometimes as punishment and sometimes just to get some time by himself, and he could walk through it with his eyes shut.

What unnerved him the most was the silence. There was no one aside for himself; all he could see was the heap of old furniture, wood to burn in winter, broken things and… what was that, in the back? Héctor moved towards the back of the room where, besides a few shelves with canned food, he could see what looked like a few crates covered with tarp.

Unlike all the rest, that wasn’t covered in dust; it looked out of place, and he wondered--

“Who’s there?”

“Eeek!” The less than dignified shriek left him just as he dropped the candle, which extinguished itself before it even touched the ground. Still, he was not left in darkness: when he turned he found himself facing someone else who was, too, holding a candle. “... Imelda?”

“Héctor?”

For a moment, they just stared at each other. She looked surprised, and beautiful in the flickering light of the candle, in that moment of stillness and silence as the world slept and it felt as though there was only the two of them awake. In an empty basement. Alone.

Bad, bad, bad. This is bad.

“I mean--” Héctor cleared his throat. “Sister Gisela,” he said, and she seemed relieved.

“Brother Héctor,” she greeted him back, and stood there as Héctor quickly went to pick up the candle. She held out her own to let him light it up again, and then took a couple of steps back. She was fully dressed in her robe and headdress, and he was wearing his cassock, but somehow the entire situation felt extraordinarily inappropriate. “What are you doing here? This time of the night?” she asked, her voice cautious.

Not knowing how much he could or should tell her, Héctor could have asked the same - but before he could utter a single word there was light, stronger than that cast by their candles, and a man’s voice rang out. “Well, this is more crowded than I was expecting.”

They both winced and turned to see that they were no longer alone. A few steps from them there were a few men, all of them armed. The closest one, carrying an oil lamp, chuckled.

“Well, look at that,” he said, and smiled with a mouth full of crooked teeth before gesturing for the men to lower their guns. “It’s you. Nice to finally meet you in person, amigos,” he added, and Héctor knew he wasn’t going to die that night.

Well, that was turning out to be a really odd night.

***

Imelda had known something was off the moment she had found the note in her room, clearly slipped in beneath the door, telling her to go down in the basement at midnight and tell no one. She’d figured right away it had to have something to do with the weapons she was keeping there, of course - what else could it be about? - but it was also very, very odd.

Her presence had never been required or requested when it was time for the revolutionaries to come and collect them and, most of all, the note itself was different: the handwriting was different, or at least so it seemed to her. It was hard to tell, since this one was in uppercase and none of the others had been.

It unnerved her, and she wished she could tell Sofía about it, but it was not an option that evening: she was away, taking care of the parish and, if she got her way, of the priest as well. Granted, now that a gringo had gotten there, Padre Ernesto was no longer the one Imelda was most interested in knowing about. While an outsider, and clearly not a very conventional priest, at least Padre Ernesto wasn’t a foreigner. An American’s presence there of all places made little sense, and Imelda didn’t like that. Something was up with that man, she could tell.

Maybe, she’d thought, that was the reason why someone wanted to speak to her, and she’d gone down in the basement at midnight, walking through empty and silent halls, not quite knowing what she would find.

Admittedly, Héctor - Brother Héctor - was not among the various options she’d imagined.

"Well, this is awkward, huh? You guys weren't really meant to meet. Safer for everyone if each of you knows as little as possible," the man with the oil lamp - José, he’d called himself, but Imelda suspected that was not his real name - said with another smile as his companions quickly took the weapons and loaded on a small cart they had left outside.

“You…?” both Imelda and Héctor exclaimed, looking at each other and then falling silent.

Imelda was at a loss for words. All of those notes, all along, it had been Héctor of all people? Unaware of the fact Héctor was thinking exactly the same thing - all of those nose, all along, it had been Imelda? - she turned away, Sofía’s words echoing in the back of her mind.

Oh, I think he’s a better actor than you give him credit for.

“Still, what’s done is done. Thanks for the help,” José was adding, thankfully unaware of her thoughts. “The army is still stretched pretty thin, but some of them are getting closer. We’ll send most of these to our friends up north, but will keep a few as well. Just in case.”

That caused Héctor to stop staring at her with his mouth agape and frown. “Do you think they’ll get to Santa Cecilia? Again?” he asked. The mere thought was enough to make Imelda feel cold; last time the army had been there they had taken men, and they had been able to hide away the boys. Next time, they may not be so lucky; orphans were very convenient in war. No one would fight to keep them… or so the Federales seemed to think.

“Maybe we should keep a few rifles,” Imelda spoke up, causing Héctor to wince and José to raise an eyebrow. “In case they come for the children.”

The man barked out a laugh. “Hah! I like the way you think, Sister, but not to worry. If you’re ever in trouble, we will know. And we will fight,” he promised, then he tilted his head. “So. What is this I heard about a gringo in town… ?”

As Héctor filled him in with what he knew about Father John - which was not much, truth be told, but he seemed to think he was relatively inoffensive, if annoying - and promised to keep an eye on him, Imelda found herself staring at him more intensely than she had in years. In the sharp light of the oil lamp he looked, for the first time, more like a man - a world away from the boy she thought she’d known.

Something was going on, something much bigger than either of them, and they were in it together.

***

[Back to Part 3]

[On to Part 5]

[runningwolf62]

@wardencommanderrodimiss @pachelbelsheadcanon

The new chapter is here featuring emotional whiplash and allegiances finally.

On AO3

What happens next is a series of incidents so coincidental and yet so perfectly aligned Larry would be tempted to call it fate. He had headed to a book store to chill and he would swear he’d just gone in to look for a book for Nick or Edgey as a Christmas present. Nothing dramatic, he’d just been caught up on his word count for the day and he’d wanted to shop and treat himself and get things out of the way so he didn’t come out of December confused and lacking presents for anyone.

And while he was there he’d remembered his promise to himself to get Tallstar’s Revenge, after WolfDragon had recommended it. So there he was in the children’s section, looking through the Warrior cats section - which he had half a mind to sort because someone respected neither series nor numbers and honestly it was a disaster trying to find anything, was this supposed to be alphabetical, because he was not going to find Tallstar’s Revenge at all like this - when the book caught his eye.

The Magic Bottle.

A simple title really, but the art on the cover was beautiful. Larry abandoned the Warrior Cats books for a moment to pick up this one, whoever the cover artist was they were fantastic at their job because Larry was for sure curious now. He flipped it over to scan the back, and cracked it open.

Well it turned out Elise Deauxnim could both write and draw, and Larry was enthralled. God where had she been when he was a kid, this shit was fantastic. He ended up buying it and after asking a worker, maybe making an excuse of shopping for a niece (listen that was the simplified version of what Pearl was and if he liked the book this much he might tell Nick to get it for her for Christmas so you know, valid) he also got Tallstar’s Revenge.

Now Tallstar’s Revenge was great, especially by Warrior standards, but he kept coming back to The Magic Bottle, the art, the characters, the pacing, it was fantastic. It made him want to write kid’s books.

Why not? You’re a really good writer and it’s not like you’re unfamiliar with kid’s lit

Thanks!

But she’s super good and I wouldn’t even know where to begin!

Stripes stop selling yourself short you’re a fantastic writer

Stripes?

I’ve mentally called you that for years deal with it

I guess it beats Orange.

“Graypaw what have I told you about talking to basketballs”

What?

Okay I’m sending you that parody as soon as I find a link to it but you should go for it! You’re talented currently inspired also unemployed

Thanks

Hey, I meant now more than ever is your chance

So what should I do?

Google this author see what else she’s written and maybe write her some fan mail

“Hi I’m a twenty-something dude, huge fan”

Look Mr. smartass if you don’t want my help

I’m just worried I’ll come off as weird!

Then lie, say it was for a nephew or something and you were really impressed too and it made you want to try writing children’s lit, how did she get started

Think she’ll answer?

She might

Worth a try

Well I did read it so only fair I review it.

Atta boy, go get ‘em

Larry grins to himself and does exactly as Wolf suggested, googling Elise Deauxnim to find that she had a PO Box. With some help and a little more encouragement from Wolf, he sends off the letter. Then he tries to calm down by focusing on his NaNo, which is mostly just him writing oneshots and a chapter or two of the fic. He hasn’t brought in Godot yet because he’s not sure what the absolute hell is going on there and he doesn’t like thinking about that day in court. He keeps sending out his resume but after how he lost his last job he’s thinking it’s a good thing he has as much in savings as he does, and he’s thinking about emergency commissions.

Until the letter arrives. He’s not sure he believes what he’s seeing but a photo sent to Wolf on discord proves that not only did Elise Deauxnim not think he was a creepy loser, she was encouraging him. She wanted to see some of his art and writing so she could tell him where he might find some agents interested in him.

DUDE

RIGHT I’M FREAKING OUT RIGHT NOW!

AGGHHHH!

That’s amazing!

AGGGHHH!

I told you you were an amazing author

OH GOD WHAT DO I SEND HER

Not the Warriors Fanfic

OBVIOUSLY

Look, take a deep breath, and like, think of a story

Doesn’t have to be great, just some kids story thing

Do some art with it

Oh god, dude that’s terrifying, every idea I had just vanished.

Alright, listen you don’t have to write the damn thing just the first three pages of something

Uh, what are kids into these days?

Great question

I’m super good at drawing cats, what do I do with that?

Write Warriors but gay

Don’t we call that Wings of Fire?

Shots fired

More seriously, what do I do with that?

Well you’re good with a very open world series with a set of rules that is easily adapted to a setting

And cat anatomy

So I’d take those elements and make it into something

That’s a horrifying Chimera.

…

You know, that could be a plot hook

What?

Well like kids love monsters right?

Write a series with a Chimera as the main character, it’s part lion

Dude, you’re a genius, I owe you my life, and the response of “no thanks I’ve seen it, I don’t want it” is probably valid

Well get to it writer-boy, you’ll do great

What he ends up with is a book series about various mythological monsters on an adventure, and an offer from Elise Deauxnim to be an apprentice under her. He says yes, of course. He moves out of his apartment and to a smaller and cheaper one closer to where she works.

It’s awkward at first, on both ends. He can tell he’s not what she expected but he tries. She helps him with his writing, telling him what his strengths are first and then slowly moving to where he needs some polishing. It’s still strained though.

The breakthrough comes one afternoon, when Larry’s phone alarm goes off. He reaches over, swipes it off, and then flips the sketchbook page he’s on to start drawing something else.

Elise, - she insist he call her Elise which is weird to him but she’s a firm but matronly woman and so he obeys – looks up at the sound.

“Sorry I didn’t mean to disturb you,” he offers a quick sheepish grin but she only looks more confused.

“Did you force yourself to get a drawing complete in a certain amount of time? You know that won’t make it turn out well.”

“Oh, no,” Larry flips back to the previous drawing to show her that it’s far from complete, “I got art block so rather than sit here and think about how I had the perfect image if I could only draw it for the next hour I worked on something else for ten minutes.”

“You’re quite talented at drawing cats,” she remarks, and Larry grins.

“I’d hope after how long I’ve been drawing them.”

“So this ten minutes of drawing, does it help?”

“Kind of yeah,” Larry pulls his sketch book back to him, looking at the sketch of Cherrywing and Spiritstar, he should draw Maya and Mia sometime. Maybe- no probably not for Christmas but at some point he should. “It forces me to relax and focus on something else, and get the creative juices flowing while I work on something that’s just for me so there’s no pressure or anything. That’s why I can only do it for ten minutes or I’d never get any actual work done!”

“That’s very clever,” she’s focusing on him now and Larry can only shrug, it’s just something that’s worked for him.

“Are those your cats?”

Oh no.

“Uh no, they’re-” he scrambles for a moment, “they’re just cats.”

Elise looks at him with a look of doubt but doesn’t press, instead she turns her focus on the picture, her eyes softening as she looks at Spiritstar and Cherrywing sitting together, “you have a real talent for capturing the emotion of a scene, there’s something very peaceful and loving about it, even for a sketch.”

Larry blinks in surprise, “thank you!” That was very much what he had been going for and he was pleased that he had succeeded at such.

Elise smiles at him, “you have such a talent for landscapes too, the nature looks natural while still framing them.”

Larry rubs the back of his neck with a grin, “now you’re going to give me an ego,” he jokes but he hopes she understands how grateful he is.

By the way she looks at him she does.

-

Merry Christmas Nick!!

merry xmas

 Hey Maya, Merry Christmas!

Message failed to send.

Figures.

Message failed to send.

-

You okay man?

I

I appreciate your concern Larry but yes, I am fine

If you need to call just let me know

Before you joke yes I’m single this Christmas

That’s a kind offer but I am with my sisters

THERE’S ANOTHER ONE?!?

Her daughter has a dog named Phoenix

Holy shit

Quite

-

Merry Christmas Stripes!

Merry Christmas Wolfman!

-

Larry has to say, having your mentor frame and hang your finished and signed piece because she likes it so much is like having your parents hang art on the fridge but somehow a thousand times better.

They spend the winter working, her on her story and on helping Larry grow as an artist and writer and working on her own story.

Larry helps where he can with that, mostly by trying not to bother her when she looks busy but she does ask him to do some illustrations for her, citing his abilities with landscapes. He accepts and pours his heart and soul into it.

SHE’S GOING TO HATE IT

NO SHE WON’T JUST GIVE IT TO HER

AAAAAAAGHHHHHHHHHHH

Dude

Fine! Fine!

You’ve got this, you’re a really good artist and you’ve said she’s proud of you

As she should be

So you’ve got this

Thanks man

Go get it writer-boy

You gonna buy my book Wolfman

Of course

Larry can’t help but smile at that.

But you’ve got to publish it first

Rude.

Larry tucks his phone into his pocket and hands the portfolio over to Elise. She accepts them with a smile and begins to flip through them, seeming oblivious to Larry’s nervous shuffling. She pauses at one and studies while Larry does his best to not explode or start nervously babbling.

“These are beautiful,” she remarks and Larry can feel his shoulders sag in relief, “you’ve done fantastic work.”

“Thank you, I went to the park a lot to try and get all the details right.”

“It shows,” she continues to leaf through them, Larry feels more confident so he begins to point to details he feels proud of or wants to make sure she notices.

“These are just the illustrations my book needed if you’ll allow me to use them.”

“I, uh, yes!” Larry stares at her eyes about to jump out of his skull, wait until he tells Nick! He’s successful now, look at him!

Elise laughs fondly and hands them back, “hold on to these and let me talk to my agent but that’s exactly the kind of work I couldn’t find anywhere else, your watercolor style is just what I needed.”

Larry is going to cry and just manages to thank her long enough for him to slip out and tell Wolf everything.

I’m proud of you Stripes

I’m proud of me! I feel like I’m really making myself a new person!

He’s tempted to also tell Nick but he decides to wait. To drop the book on Nick’s desk at his office. That’s how he’ll do it.

Okay so get this

Yeah?

Apparently my last name “can’t be taken seriously by publishers”.

And I thought elementary school kids were hurtful.

Oh my god

So she’s going to have me use her last name.

WHAT

Her publisher loves the idea too.

Makes me look like family.

Which sells or something?

Hey I’ll take it, I’m getting paid.

So what name should I keep an eye out for

Larry pauses, they’ve never told each other their real names, years of being Wolf and Stripes and now occasionally Writer boy and Wolfman on top of having internet safety drilled into them has always stopped them.

Look for Laurice Deauxnim.

As your number one fan I want a signed copy at some point

-

“Larry,” he looks up from his typing craze at the sound of his name, he’s made a lot of progress on this chapter and with Elise’s help he’s hoping to get it done and sent to publishers by May. That’s his new year’s resolution, getting published this year.

Elise pauses her typing and he hears her sigh. He looks up to her, her face is set and determined but when she looks to him he thinks he sees regret.

“Larry, I’m afraid a situation has come up and I know it’s very last minute but unless you want to come to a monastery with me I’m afraid you’re going to have to spend the next week or so without me.”

“What?” Larry feels a surge of panic not unlike the time he discovered he hadn’t saved in an hour, “a monastery? Why are you- where are you going?”

“Hazakura Temple,” she replies with a pause, Larry has never heard of it but he pulls it up on google quick enough. A teaser for an upcoming edition of the “Oh! Cult” Magazine pops up with some lovely images. Looks cold but interesting.

“Sure I’ll come. I’ve had art block for the past week maybe trying to do some temple scenes will help!”

Elise pauses and smiles kindly, “if you really want to…”

“I need some winter scene practice too,” Larry is not looking forward to wandering around the cold but Elise was going there for some reason, maybe he’ll find a muse there as well.

He flicks his finger over the picture hanging on the wall, the one that still made him smile to see there, “and I’ll give you a winter scene to compliment the summer one.”

Whatever hesitation Elise seems to be having vanishes as she laughs softly, “alright. Make sure to dress warm.”

And in honor of @pachelbelsheadcanon‘s fantastic art, here’s a list of the allegiances. 

SpiritClan

Leader

Spiritstar – a cream she-cat with darker paws and face

Deputy

Darkleaf – a dark brown tom

Medicine Cat

Cherrywing – a cream she-cat with darker striped paws and face

Apprentice: Splashpaw

Warriors

Firebirdstorm – a bright orange tabby with spikey fur

Orangestripe – an orange tabby tom with scruffy fur

Beetlelight – a brown tabby tom with a white chin

Apprentices

Splashpaw – a white she-cat with brown paws and face

 Demon’s Group

Demon – a dark gray tom with thick fur, especially on his chest, formerly Sharppaw of SpiritClan

Viper – a gray she-cat with cold blue eyes, formerly a rogue

Timber – a brown tabby tom with messy fur

Bird – a calico she-cat with mostly dark red patches

Wolf – large thick furred gray tom

[thedistrictsleepsalonetonight]

How to fall in love the wrong way

Chapter 8: She’s the kind of girl who’s in my thoughts all night

My dearest Cheryl,

I don’t usually do this sort of thing. I am pretty sure that if Sweet Pea and Fogarty ever find out about this, I am doomed. They will tease me to my grave, and their laughter would haunt me forever. And that is why this will probably never see the light of day. I am going to write this letter, and then stuff it into a locked box, and throw it under my bed where it will hopefully never be found by my uncle.

Anyways, I have dithered about long enough. Let’s get down to business. I have never written a love letter before, (or so I’ve mentioned in the previous paragraph), so I am not sure of the logistics, but I assume it includes a flattering description of your love’s physical features, mental faculties, and how it all makes you feel. So let’s start somewhere there.

So, I could write sonnets about your beauty and novels about your face, but thing is, you don’t need to be told that. You know exactly how beautiful you are. I mean, sure your face is perfect, and your nose is the cutest thing I have ever seen, and your eyes are the stars guiding me home and blah, but what’s the need? You could describe your face way better than I ever can. Just know that you are the prettiest person in the world to me. I feel like that’s enough.

But your beauty, while divine, is not all that attracted me to you. There is just something about you, Cheryl. How strong you are, how fiercely independent, how brave. I know you don’t believe it yourself, but there’s a lot of good in you. You try not to show it to people, but you’re amazing. You’re smart, and you’re funny, and I wish other people could see that in you too.

Cheryl Blossom, you’re absolutely sensational.

I suppose that brings us to an end of this section. Now, there is something else I’d like to add. I’d like to add my resume here, to sell myself, so there’s a chance of you choosing me, even If you are way out of my league.

I am a serpent. That ought to say that I am pretty badass. No matter how many stories Fangs tells you of me standing on one chair for an entire day because there was supposedly a rat in the room.

I can play the ukulele. And while my voice is horrible, I suppose it’s a nice thing to have a girlfriend who will serenade you all the time. Because seriously, I will.

I know you. I know about your embarrassing childhood spill-ups and your marks, and that one goth phase in middle school that lasted a month. I know all of these. And I would love to know more.

I am tiny, but I will love you and protect you all the time. That is a promise.

Anyway, I have rambled on long enough. Thank you for bearing with me throughout all this.

                                                                                                                                                                                                         Yours, eternally

                                                                                                                                                                                                           Toni

“It’s okay, you can come out now,” Cheryl tells her.

She hears it as if from very far away, which she supposes makes sense because her head is buried under two cushions, and her girlfriend’s arm. She slowly takes them off, and, still grimacing from embarrassment, chances a look at Cheryl’s face. Which isn’t so bad. The girl is absolutely glowing; her cheeks are bright red, and she’s wearing the widest smile ever. She slowly shifts onto Cheryl’s lap.

“Okay, now that the torture is over, can I have this back?”

“Absolutely not!” Cheryl tells her, sternly “I’m keeping this till the end of eternity. Which, coincidentally, is the amount of time you’ll be mine. Just saying.”

Toni groans.

“Did you like it, though?” she asks, then.

Cheryl’s expression softens from mirth to something tenderer “I loved it. I love you. Thank you for writing this. It’s amazing.”

Toni ducks her head in an ‘Aw Shucks’, kind of way and waves it away “Eh, it’s……whatever. No big deal.”

“When did you write this, though? There’s no date on it.”

She thinks for a while “Uh, I think it was the first time I serenaded you.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, yeah. This one, I definitely wrote right after that.”

Cheryl kisses her cheek, and then frowns at her “Wait, did you say this one?”

Uh oh.

“Toni, are there more!?”

                                                                                             ********************

The night of the serenade is a funny story.

Mostly because it also is The night of a Fangs and Sweet Pea and Toni adventure and The night of the human pyramid and The night of Archie doing something stupid and Veronica somehow enabling it even more and Jughead trying to be all brooding and unaffected as always and Betty making everything ten times worse and funnier. Either way, you know, it’s a fun night.

It starts with the jukebox.

Which is ironical, since the jukebox doesn’t start.

                                                                                             ********************

“Baby, no.”

“But, Cheryl.”

“No means no, buddy,” Fangs cuts in “We’ve told you multiple times it’s a terrible joke.”

                                                                                             ********************

So, the jukebox isn’t starting at the Whyte Wyrm, and they’ve all taken turns smashing on the metal cover but the sound fizzles out after a while, and that’s when Archie has the bright idea of entertaining the patrons by singing some songs.

Veronica joins in and they end up doing a terrible duet of the High School Musical song which only the drunk biker dudes from out of town appreciate. Jughead spends the entire evening roasting them. Finally, Veronica has had enough, and challenges him to sing. Which, obviously, Betty takes over. Then she, does a terrible version of Teenage Dream, and another terrible three way group song with Archie and Veronica. In the end, it’s just Toni and Fangs and Sweet Pea and Jughead staring at each other in despair.

Talk somehow shifts to the topic of music, does a jump to the subject of romantic music, and before she knows it, Toni has, in a weird game of Truth and Dare, somehow agreed to serenade Cheryl Blossom.

Veronica voices the only concern that exists “Isn’t her mom, like legit insane? How the fuck are we supposed to make a ruckus in her house?”

And Cheryl feels relieved for a moment, right until Fogarty opens his big fat mouth “Her mom’s out of town, dude,” he says “Got this thing.”

“How do you know?”

He just looks at Toni and everyone nods in understanding.

                                                                                             ********************

“I hope you know that this is ridiculous,” she tells the entire group, half an hour later as she’s sitting on Sweets’ lap, who is stuffed in the middle of Jughead and Veronica. Archie’s driving, and Betty is drifting off to sleep on the passenger’s seat beside him. Fangs is crouched in the back of the van.

“What’s so ridiculous about joining two souls in eternal union?” Veronica asks her.

“Oh my God, is that what it is? Are you……shipping us?” Toni asks her, in utter disbelief, and there are three simultaneous snort, one from Jughead, Sweets and Fangs.

“Everybody in the school ships you, dude,” Fangs tells her.

“It’s true,” Archie chips in “Ever since you’ve started hanging out with her, Cheryl’s mellowed. Like, a lot.”

“And you guys would be so cute together,” Veronica gushes “Like, if this was a TV show, you’d deserve to be the couple in focus, no questions asked. Every scene would be you. Every song would be you. Every duet would be you. Every….”

“We get it, Veronica,” Jughead pipes up, quiet yet amused “They are your babies.”

Veronica agrees, and Toni closes her eyes, wishes for this nightmare to be over.

                                                                                             ********************

Of course it isn’t.

Veronica and Archie are still singing their terrible duet, as they cross the garden. Jughead is half-supporting, half-carrying Betty, who’s mostly asleep. Sweet Pea is still nursing his bottle, and they are all so, terribly, terribly drunk. Oh, and Fangs somehow manages to ruin the rose plants growing at the edge of the fence as they are breaking it, but falling on them. Then, he squeals like a little girl who has just discovered that Ken is gay.

                                                                                             ********************

“I did not squeal.”

“The thorns are on my butt, guys, help me,” Sweet Pea mimics a high-pitched voice, and all of them laugh.

                                                                                             ********************

“Juliet, Juliet, wherefore art thou?” Archie and Veronica shout up at the window, trying to hit it with tiny pebbles (Only one of them hits the mark) “Your Romeo is here to drop a verse.”

There is a sound, then Cheryl is out on the balcony, looking the most confused anyone has ever seen her “Andrews? What the hell?”

(And Toni knows this is totally not the time, that she has to do something potentially very embarrassing and stupid, but Cheryl looks adorable, hair all mussed up, and eyes squinting, wearing a green nightgown that has mice on it)

(Toni has never been more in love)

“My babies!” Veronica sighs, and that’s when Cheryl notices the rest of them.

“What are you people doing here in the middle of the night? Toni?”

She stares at Cheryl for a minute, deciding how to scream her explanation. The, deciding against it, she recruits Fangs (who is still whining about his butt) and Sweet Pea to bend so she can climb up on them. It takes fifteen minutes, one broken wine bottle, and three rounds of exasperated sighs from the rest of the audience before she can finally get up on the balcony.

“Surprise?” she says, feebly.

“Why are you here? What’s going on? Why does Veronica keep staring at us like we’re her long-lost daughters? Why do you have that ukulele with you?”

“Um, truth or dare. A stupid dare. Because she ships us. And” Toni says, concentrating “I have to sing you a song?”

“Um.”

“It’s a dare,” she explains, blushing.

Cheryl keeps staring at her in silence, so she carefully wears the ukulele, and starts playing the opening chords of “Can’t help falling in love with you”. She tries not to look at Cheryl’s face, during, too embarrassed, instead concentrating on the chords and how not to let her voice fade away. Finally ending it, she chances a look up at the other girl.

Cheryl’s mouth is pursed, but Toni can clearly see that it’s an attempt to mask her smile. She looks a little red around the cheeks, and though her arms are crossed, she isn’t angry at all.

“So…..that was it,” Toni breaks the silence that has fallen over them.

“That was it,” Cheryl replies, a slight smile on her lips.

“You’re not, angry?”

The smile widens, and before Toni has time to think, Cheryl is right in front of her. She leans around, and gently kisses Toni on the cheek. There is a loud ‘Whoop’ from down below, and Toni knows they’re being complete idiots right now, but it doesn’t matter, because she is also being a complete idiot right now.

“No, Toni,” Cheryl says “I’m not angry.”

Then she walks back into her own room.

Chapter title from Forever by The Explorer's club

Song mentioned in the chapter: Can't help falling in love with you by Elvis Presley covered by Twenty One Pilots

[gala0apples]

So I have a lot of trauma related to getting a job. When I was a kid my mom’s job tried to fuck her out of her disability. My dad’s company that he worked for 25 years at laid off every single person and hired new workers who would work for half the price, and he wasn’t able to get another job because his talents were too specialised.

When I got my first job, after college, I got fired for unfair reasons. It sent me into a massive tailspin, a depression that took 3 years to even get mental health help for, and another 2 years after that to get another job.

In October I lost this job, after working with her for about 2.5 years. It was no one’s fault, my boss was furious about having to let me go and is my best reference. I was pleasantly surprised by my relative lack of meltdowns. 

This Tuesday I applied for a job, one that was close to my house and had really good benefits. On Wednesday they replied, saying they wanted to give me an interview, here were 9 possible interview slots, pick a few and get back to me, I’ll firmly decide one and get back to you. I replied immediately.

Friday afternoon, and they still haven’t gotten back to me. I called, and left a message at 1pm, and it’s a career with about 6am to 6pm hours. Considering one of the interview slots I agreed to was Monday, they should have gotten back if they honestly had any interest.

The worst part isn’t that I want to die, although that’s true. I cried from 4pm to 6pm. The worst part isn’t the intense urge to self harm, although that’s true too. I close my eyes and I imagine tearing chunks of my body off, like pulling apart a peice of fried chicken, except it’s blood and flesh everywhere, and the idea is so soothing it’s scary.

The worst part is how STUPID I feel. I was proud of myself, okay? I had a pretty decent resume, I had a really good cover letter, I had a portfolio of pictures of stuff I’d done at work, and explanations about why those things were important. Each of those things were really hard to do, caused crying and panic attacks, but I DID THEM. And I did them only 3 months after losing my job, and December barely counts with the amount of family shit I have to do.

I was proud of working through my mental illness, and I applied somewhere, and I thought getting an interview was a reward for how hard I worked. Even if I didn’t get the job, it was a step in the right direction. And not only do I not get a interview, after all, I don’t even get a phone call or email saying the job’s been filled or whatever.

I was PROUD OF MYSELF, and to them it was a joke. I am a joke. Which means I have nothing to be proud of, I’m really just an idiot who somehow couldn’t see that I’m a joke. And I want to die, because how can I live for 50 more years being this fucking stupid?

I told my dad if they didn’t call by 4pm I was going to lay down. So I took a pill, one lorazapam, and laid down and tried to sleep but just cried instead. And when I got up at 7, dad said ‘oh thank god’, and I asked why.

It was because when he saw my pill bottle open, he wasn’t sure how many I took. I wouldn’t do that to him, but that’s not the point. The point is he understands me, and thinks I would. And I WOULDN’T leave him alone like that, but it makes it even harder, knowing that in some way, the action would be understandable.

The hell of it is, I still need a job. So on Monday I have to start this search all over again, and this time I get to do it knowing that I don’t deserve confidence, that I’m stupid and pathetic, and will never have any stability.

Life is hard.

[justmoreboringprattle-blog]

depression-induced anxious rambles.

When you have literally no skills that can provide anything as a means of supporting yourself or contributing to society, who do you blame?  Maybe I should blame myself for not trying hard enough. Maybe it's just my fault for not choosing smarter in school. Maybe I should blame my parents. They should've pushed me harder to do better or to choose a streamlined path during and after college. After all, it's their job to prepare you for life, isn't it?  But that's a cop out. Blaming someone else for your problems.  Maybe it's the fault of society. For pushing high school students straight into college no questions asked.  Maybe I should've taken a gap year to "find myself". Maybe it's God's fault. Maybe the big man cursed me from birth to be a useless fucking mess of a human being so he could laugh as I struggled my way through my short life. But no. When it comes down to it, it's just my fault. All the time I spent not doing anything productive was time wasted and I don't get that back now.  But now I'm too far behind with too few connections and too few opportunities that there's no conceivable way to catch up. I could ask around and grovel for help, sure.  But I have nothing to offer once I get a foot in the door. Other people might be in the same spot, but at least they have something that they can do passably. I can't even do that. So what's the point then? "Oh, you should work harder now and do your best to get the most opportunities that you can!" I can't drive, I've never had a real job, and my degree is utterly useless other than the title of "college graduate". Whoop-dee-fucking-doo. I was a deadbeat before I even knew what a deadbeat was. It's a vicious cycle of being stuck in the place you hate the most because you have no means of exit, but you can't get the means because you're stuck in hell. When you're not having a panic attack you're dissociating to escape your conscious and waking life.  Death has always been appealing in that regard. "The Eternal Sleep" sounds pretty fucking good all things considered.  "Oh boo hoo what a selfish millennial. She can't manage finding a job or building her future because she's having a pity party!" Well...yeah, basically. I don't know what to do and if no one has told or shown me yet, it doesn't seem like its gonna happen.  I can't do anything that someone would hire me for without "5 years experience". I don't know enough about anything to feel validated or valuable. Someone is always better or smarter or prettier than I am anyway. What's the point. Life is suffering and I don't even remember what being happy is. I don't think I've been happy since I was in middle school. Even then. That fucking sucked.  How can you go for so many years without feeling happiness? Why bother?  "Oh how melodramatic." Yeah. Well. There's no other way to explain it. I'm melodramatic, I'm a hypocrite, I'm an asshole, I'm useless, I'm worthless, and I don't deserve to have anyone who would say differently in my life. People try. They do. And bless them for that. But it just doesn't ever change anything or help or work and I don't understand why they can't see that. "Love" I guess. Or they're all wearing the same mask of mindless contentment to hide their void too. Going back to the main point - I wouldn't want to hire me either. I'd look at my resume and cover letter and think "wow, what a useless applicant who has nothing to offer us." And carry on down the line. People don't want to hire "worthless". They want people who have skills that they can turn into money.  Which I don't have.  My highest marketable quality is like...academic writing. But no one needs that. They don't want to see if you can write with big flowery language. They want you to write mindless fluff that gets people to buy their stuff. I think I'd be more unhappy and more unfulfilled doing that. Which only feels possible because it would be truth and not speculation then. Every time I think I've hit rock bottom, it goes lower. You can't climb out if you're still falling. I want to laugh at myself because if I saw anyone else saying this garbage nonsense I'd laugh, but the laughing and joking just covers up how true it is. "Oh haha you think you're worthless and want to die so it's funny!" "Haha you'll never get a job!"  Haha. Can I laugh myself to death? That feels right.